


hit the ground running

by fadeoutslow



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeoutslow/pseuds/fadeoutslow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blow jobs and hair and unnamed <i>feelings</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hit the ground running

Last year Jules' life consisted of almost nothing but waiting around, watching, learning, always trying to pay attention and never, _ever_ look bored. And this year is busier, definitely, but he's been surprised by how much time he still spends standing in the garage, patient, as the mechanics go over the car, trying some microscopic adjustment, some small fix that will gain the team just that hundredth of a second more.

But he's not complaining. He's just happy to be driving, finally able to prove himself. And the down time means he can sneak away, just for a while, find some out of the way corner, find _Charles_.

They're not friends, exactly, not really, but they seem to end up together more often than not, on the track and off, thrown into each other's company by circumstance. Charles had seemed aloof, at first, uninterested, but Jules soon realized that was merely a façade, an outer shell of pretence.

Because Charles is many things, but uninterested, or uninterested in _Jules_ , anyway, is certainly not one of those things.

As evidenced by the fact that he's currently on his knees, pulling Jules' race suit lower, low enough that he can mouth at Jules' cock through his underwear, biting, almost, but not with teeth, just his lips, pressure and the texture of the fabric over Jules' skin until he feels like he might go crazy with it.

Jules touches Charles' face, his neck, his jaw, his hair. His _hair_.

"Ugh," he says, without meaning to.

Charles stops. "What?" he asks.

"You use way too much product." Jules tugs at Charles' hair, which is thick and sticky under his fingers.

"Don't mess it up," says Charles.

Jules gives him a look. "You're about to suck my cock and you're worried about your hair?"

And Charles gives him exactly the same look, reflected straight back. "I'm about to suck your cock and you're worried about _product_?"

Jules shrugs. "Maybe I want to, you know, pull your hair while you blow me."

"Sure," Charles says, laughing, grasping Jules' hips for leverage and standing up.

Jules smiles at him, then reaches out, sliding one hand inside Charles' suit, fingers curling around the length of his cock, enjoying Charles' sudden little gasp. 

"Come on," Jules says, and Charles mirrors his actions, and then they're jerking each other off, hands moving in the same rhythm, both watching the other's movements, intent. 

"Maybe I should mess up your hair," Jules says, soft, licking over Charles' mouth. "Maybe I should mess up your hair, so it looks like you've been fucked, and when you get back to the garage everyone will know."

Charles whines, needy and frantic-sounding, and Jules goes on. "And they'll all just think you fucked some girl, some random groupie, but you'll know it was me, and you won't be able to stop thinking about it, about me."

" _Shit_ ," Charles says. His hand moves faster on Jules' cock, and Jules is coming, closing his eyes, face buried in Charles' shoulder as he feels it flood through him, the _heat_ of it.

And when he opens his eyes, Charles is _staring_ at him, face unguarded, desperate, waiting for Jules, for _something_ , anything, and now Jules is the one on his knees, Charles' cock hot in his mouth, coming before Jules can even start, so he just takes it, swallowing down.

"Fuck," Charles says, breathless, and Jules stands up, grabs Charles' hand, which is covered in Jules' come. He licks it clean, sucking on Charles' fingers, and Charles just watches, expression something like fascination, wonder. And maybe Jules should be embarrassed, but he _loves_ it, the taste of both of them inside his mouth.

"Thanks," Charles says, when Jules is done, and Jules shrugs, suddenly feeling strangely awkward.

"You're welcome," he says. 

They both nod, straightening themselves up, coming back down to earth, to reality. "So," says Charles, and his tone is lighter, playful, "how's my hair?"

Jules laughs. "Perfect," he answers. "As always."

"Good." Charles grabs Jules' arm, squeezes it a little. "Well," he says, "have a good race."

"Yeah," Jules tells him. "I will."


End file.
